


You Got Me Ticking (Gonna Blow My Top)

by cathybites



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 10:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathybites/pseuds/cathybites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written in response to <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/379.html?thread=14203&style=mine#t14203">a prompt</a> at <span><a href="http://st-xi-kink.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://st-xi-kink.livejournal.com/"><b>st_xi_kink</b></a></span>: <i>Anything that involves Chekov getting banged over his desk.</i> Title from "Start Me Up" from the Stones because that's what was playing and it seemed to fit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Got Me Ticking (Gonna Blow My Top)

It's a bad idea. A stupid, ridiculous, _incredibly_ bad idea, but McCoy's life has been nothing but one bad idea after another, and he can't think of a good reason to end that streak now.

Really too late anyways, with Chekov stretched underneath him over the console, shirt rucked up and pants around his ankles. He's pale all over, skin so white it's almost translucent. McCoy slides a hand up his back, his own tanned skin in stark contrast to Chekov's. He presses hard against the curve of his spine, teeth gritting when Chekov moans and arches into the touch, pushes his ass back against the two fingers stretching him open.

"Please," Chekov says, head tilting back just enough for a sidelong glance under fluttering lashes. "Puzhalsta, _please_ ," and McCoy swears. It had been those words that had gotten him here in the first place, with Chekov sidling up to him, breathing them into his ear. He twists his fingers, grins at the sound Chekov makes before scissoring them open and guiding his cock in with the other hand.

Chekov is tight, so fucking _tight_ and warm, and he makes these high, hitching gasps as McCoy slides in. He goes slow, taking his time to watch his cock as it's swallowed up, glides his thumb over the tight stretch of skin sucking him in. Chekov trembles all over, inside and out, and by the time McCoy bottoms out, they're both dripping with sweat.

McCoy waits, gives Chekov a moment. Gives _himself_ a moment because he thinks he could come right now, just from the feel of Chekov tight around his dick. He takes a breath, leans down and kisses up Chekov's spine, curves his hands around his slim hips and curls his fingers in. "Ready?"

Chekov swallows loudly, nods. Barely has time to say, "Yes," before McCoy pulls back, almost all the way out, stopping only when the head of his cock is about to slip free. He gives a few shallow thrusts, just to tease both of them, then slams back in, hips slapping against Chekov's ass. Repeats, over and over. Concentrates on the movement, on the slide of skin against skin, the muscles clenching all around him. He can hear Chekov mumbling words he can't understand - _bolshe, pasilnyeye, pabihstryeye_ \- but he doesn't need a translator to figure out what the kid means, not when he's pushing back into McCoy's thrusts, legs struggling to spread wider, moaning like his life depended on.

He obliges the best he can, leaning in a little to get a hand around Chekov's shoulder, hold him tight as he fucks him harder. One of Chekov's hands lets go of the console, starts to slide underneath, and McCoy snatches it, holds it behind Chekov's back. "No you don't," he grunts, "not until I say."

Chekov moans louder at that, almost sobs, but he doesn't try to shake free, doesn't do anything but roll his hips back, demanding, and McCoy slips in deeper.

He fucks Chekov like that, hard and fast, pinned between the console and him, and it's too soon when he feels his orgasm building, a coil of heat tightening deep in his gut. He lets go of Chekov's arm and reaches around, finds his cock and wraps his hand around it. He manages only a few pulls before Chekov is gasping and coming, slick jizz covering McCoy's hand. Chekov's entire body tenses and pulses, an endless wave of motion, and McCoy can't hold it off any longer. He presses down tightly to him, biting down on Chekov's shoulder as he comes, grinding his hips closer, trying to bury himself as far inside of Chekov as possible.


End file.
